Like Clockwork

Just like I have my annual rant about the weather in August, September/October seems to be the time when I write about slipping into another doldrum.  Heather Armstrong at Dooce does the same thing.  She mentioned one year that her therapist told her that March and September have the highest rates of suicides of all the months.  Maybe it's the shorter days, the gloomier weather.  Whatever it is, I'm just trying to slog through it as best I can.

This year Heather linked to a set of comics that depicted depression from the artists' points of view.  I really liked them, especially this one.  I'd seen it before, and I thought I'd share it here today.

Click to enlarge.

Check out the other comics.  It might help you understand if you don't suffer from depression but know someone that does.  And if you do suffer from it, it will give you some reassurance that you're not alone.

Like a Room Engulfed in Flames

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This post from Ann Voskamp was in response to Rick Warren's son committing suicide this past weekend.  As always, she has an amazing way with words, and I thought her description of depression was excellent.  I hope many people read her post and get a better understanding of the horrors of this mental illness.

"...depression is like a room engulfed in flames and you can’t breathe for the sooty smoke smothering you limp — and suicide is deciding there is no way but to jump straight out of the burning building.  That when the unseen scorch on the inside finally sears intolerably hot –  you think a desperate lunge from the flames and the land of the living seems the lesser of two unbearables."

2012 Can Suck It But I'm Still Not Making Any Resolutions

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I totally forgot that the world was supposed to end today until Ralph mentioned something about it this morning.  That now means that everyone is going to have to face the reality of another year coming upon us, like it or not.

Twenty-twelve was not quite a total disaster, but I'm not sorry to see it go.  Looking back at my posts for the year (there aren't many of them) I can see the depression and deep sadness seeping through.  I'd like to be able to work on having less of that in 2013, but there's only so much I can control.  I know, I know, positive thinking and all that.  But when depression sucks you so far down into the muck, it's a bit hard to keep an upbeat view of it all.  And when life dumps a whole truck full of lemons on you, it's all you can do just to keep putting one foot in front of the other.

I think what I have to do is just LET GO.  Let go of any expectations of what this coming year might bring.  Let go of trying to control all difficult situations that might arise (and I'm sure there will be plenty), and let go of trying to solve all my problems of the past, present, and future and JUST BE.  (Oooh, do I sound all new-agey?)

I can't look ahead to 2013 yet because I'm just trying to focus on the next five minutes.  I think I only have the capacity right now to focus only on taking the next step.  And maybe that's just what I'm supposed to be doing.  Maybe in this season of my life, that's the best thing for me to do, so that I don't get so overwhelmed with what's ahead.  So no resolutions this year, and no picking a word or anything like that. (Although, I suppose if I picked simple ones like "breathe" or "blink" I might be successful.) Don't get me wrong, I like the idea, and I know it's good motivation to set goals for yourself.  I look forward to reading about other people's goals/words for the upcoming year.  It's just not for me right now, not this year.

I think my main goal for 2013 is to try and make it through the year without stressing too much about stuff that is completely beyond my control.  That, and allowing myself to not set high (read: unrealistic) goals and instead focus on just taking care of myself, even if that means not having a clear idea of what direction I want my life to take right now.  I think this will also help me appreciate the good things I do have in life, like a supportive husband, good friends, my health, a good job, and many, many little joys that pop up every day.

And if I can keep from having a nervous breakdown?  Added bonus.

Feeling Blue

Wow, almost two months since my last post.  I think about posting every now and then, but wonder what in the world I could talk about while trying to maintain a facade of sanity.

Life on a daily basis involves barely-restrained hysteria.  Out of respect to those involved, I won't go into details, but let's just say that life with teenagers doesn't lend itself well to fun little blog-post-sized anecdotes.  These are no longer the days of "Oh my, someone decided cut the cat's whiskers," or "The older boys wouldn't let their youngest brother into the house until he jumped into the pool naked" (both of which did happen once upon a time).

But nowadays?  Seriously, people.  Shit. just. got. real.  (Forgive me, there is simply no other way to put it.)

My anxiety is through the roof, and then my depression alternately throws me into the deepest of dungeons.  There are days when I can only count out time by the minute in terms of survival, and even then I'm not sure I've made it through the day until I take the time to realize that yes, I still posses all of my limbs and internal organs, if not all of my mental faculties.

I guess I should see this as a way of looking at things from a different perspective.  Things that used to send me over the edge are now positively inconsequential.

Dog pees and poops on the rug?  Eh, at least this is a mess I can clean up.

Someone at work not speaking to me?  Yawn.  At least I'll have some peace and quiet for a few minutes a day.

Blue hair dye stains my skin from head to toe?

Meh.  Maybe I'll audition for Avatar 2.

'Til next time, whenever that may be.

Monday Musings

This past week was really tough. I was sick, which always causes my depression to kick into high gear. All I want to do when I'm sick and when I'm depressed is to pull the covers over my head and not come out til I feel better. That works fairly well when I'm sick. However, depression can take quite a while to subside to 'normal' levels. (What is normal nowadays, anyway?)

Everyone says not to isolate during these times. So hard, because that's all I want to do. It's true, though. When I'm left alone with my thoughts, I tend to fall even deeper into the darkness. My mind seems to want to feed me all the worst possible thoughts to keep me down. (Don't you hate it when your own organs turn on you?)

So I reach out, because I know I have to. Something as simple as writing on my Facebook wall:

Please tell me it gets better. Even if you have to lie.

Friends come to the rescue. Encouraging words lift me up. I was surprised, actually. Not that I don't think I have good friends. It's just that I don't usually take to Facebook to air my psychoses, since it always seemed to me like that would trivialize them. But just like anything else, it's simply a connector, a way to reach out. Someone was kind enough to post this for me:



I'm so thankful for that. It gives me a little peek at the light at the end of the tunnel. And it gives me enough strength to move forward one more day. A day at a time is all we can really do, anyway. If I look too much into the future I start to suffocate. So for today, for this moment, really, I'll muster the strength to put one foot in front of the other. And then do it again. And again.

Monday Musings: Depression

My uncle had this quote as his Facebook status the other day. I think it's a good reminder to those of us who suffer from depression and the like.

"Before you diagnose yourself with depression or low self-esteem, first make sure that you are not, in fact, just surrounded by assholes.” — William Gibson

Happy Monday

Calling It In

(These horseshoes have absolutely nothing to do with this post. I just thought they were funny.)

Yeah, I know, I've been calling it in the past few posts. It's not that I haven't wanted to write anything, I've just not had anything interesting to say. (Many might argue that I never have anything interesting to say.) I've also been lax on answering e-mails, returning telephone calls, or any kind of correspondence in general. It's not that I'm in a funk, so to speak. In fact, I'm finally feeling better after my last bout of depression. I guess that's why I'm not as tempted to surf the net, update my Facebook status, or chatter on incessantly about my everyday, mundane life. I kind of want to get out there and do some living for a change.

The other day I ran across a post by Ashley at Domestic Fashionista. She's reading a book by Donald Miller called A Million Miles in a Thousand Years. I went back and read all her posts about the book, and I love the introspection she puts in her posts.

The book is basically about Miller's experience working with screenwriters to make a movie based on his memoir. Problem was, his life was a bit too directionless for the big screen. So he set out to start living, rather than writing about living.

One quote from the book (that Ashley has in her post as well) particularly struck me:

People who live good stories are too busy to write about them. Nobody ever strapped a typewriter to the back of an elephant and wrote a novel while hunting wild game…

Not that I'm planning on riding an elephant or hunting wild game. Maybe just taming the wilds of our backyard and picking up some projects that have been languishing forever. Or savoring a delicious book or ten. Or perhaps even venturing out into the great IE and engaging with others. What a concept.

Spring weather seems to do this to me.

It also makes me want to add random pictures that have nothing to do with the post.

Sorry. I'll stop.

Anywho, I guess this is an excuse and an apology and a manifesto all rolled into one. Or something like that.

Carry on.

Find the unicorn meat here.

Keep Walking

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I came across this text the other day from an article about doubt that Ralph passed along to me. I thought it fit well for dealing with depression as well.

All of us walk into that [dark] valley from time to time. Some of us spend a great deal of time there. But when you find yourself in that valley where all is uncertain and you are sorely tempted to give in to your doubts, fears and worries, remember these two words. Keep walking. Just keep walking. Nothing is gained by camping out in the valley of darkness. The only way out is to keep on walking. Every step forward is a way to “doubt your doubts.” Soon enough the light will shine again.


Just keep walking.

Just Random Bits and Trying to Focus on the Positive

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Nothing much to report other than I'm finally beating back the depression a bit. It's been a long bout this time, and it's still threatening to pull me under again, but I'm working on it. Mostly I try to ignore it by filling my mind with other things to do, but then it just wags its finger at me as if to say, "Oh, you and your silly diversion tactics. Don't you know they're futile?" Then it wallops me in the head and slows me down to a crawl.

This, of course, means that I don't get nearly as much done as I'd like, and I've been watching my to-do list grow exponentially. It's enough to just want to pull the covers over my head and not come out for another month.

Maybe one of these would help?

(Buy it here!)

BTW, the owner of that hand has quite lofty goals.

Anyway, with all the crap tasks piling up, I'm making a concerted effort to focus on some of the things I have gotten done recently to silence the naysayers in my head. [Plus, I'd like to remind them that I still manage to get up, go to work, and do all that other daily nonsense.]


Naysayers: You've totally slipped on your organization resolutions. You're just like everyone else who fails after the first week of January.
Me: I've maintained what I have organized so far, and just last week I did a full organization of my neglected cubicle at work. [That was quite refreshing, actually.]

Naysayers: It's about time you started spray painting those picture frames. They've been languishing by the couch for months. Plus, you only did five this weekend. There's about 20 more to go.
Me: At least I finally started. It's going to be a long project, yes, but I even if I just do one at a time, that's one more than I had finished before.

Naysayers: Speaking of spray painting, those shoes are going to take a long time too, and you know they're already not what you had pictured in your head.
Me: Hey, it was worth a shot, and you never know. I'm not going to give up just yet.

Naysayers: You mean like how you've given up on every other craft you've ever started?
Me: Hey, maybe I just needed to realize that I need super-short, easy crafts to do in order to complete them.

Naysayers: Yeah, well than everything you do is going to look cheap and shoddy.
Me: Yeah? Well tell that to Sew Can Do because she featured my grapefruit scrub this week! Boo-ya!

Hopefully that will shut them up a bit.

How do you try and silence the naysayers (real or imagined)?

My Dysfunctions

Today I stumbled across the blog School Supply Dance as I was perusing Google images for a book I'm searching for. I just had to click on this:

Which led me to

And that's when I knew I was hooked.

They came from this journal which I am totally going to buy:

Click on image to enlarge.

While I'm at it, I think I need this one, too.

You can buy them from Knock Knock here.

Happy weekend everyone.

Truth is Stranger Than Fiction: Psychiatrist Edition

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The depression roller coaster hasn't let me off yet, and lately I've been musing about some of the doctors I've had in the past that I've turned to for this particular malady. Other than my primary physician, I've seen a few psychiatrists in order to try and create a cocktail that would help me crawl out of these deep, dark holes and remain more even-keeled. Trouble is, I seem to have quite a hard time finding one that isn't completely insane themselves. [This isn't meant as a generalization of psychiatry per se, I'm only documenting my personal experience.]

I have had a run of very strange encounters with these doctors, who range from being benignly indifferent to one-flew-over-the-cuckoo's-nest crazy. Since moving to SoCal five years ago, I've been through four doctors.



First: Dr. "Meh"

She was actually okay, but the meds she prescribed did very little.
She then moved far away so I couldn't continue seeing her. (I don't think she moved because of me....)

Second: Dr. Bat-S*** Crazy

* Dominated the conversation during our first meeting by describing his conspiracy theory about 9/11.

* At the second meeting tried to sell me on a pyramid scheme for mangosteen juice.

[I can't make this stuff up, folks.]

Didn't go back after that.





Third: Dr. I Don't Give a Damn

* Regaled me with tales of the kids he worked with in juvenile hall and how he would tell them that he didn't care if they cooperated, that he'd get paid either way.

* Referred to a lot of his patients as "ghetto kids."

* When I told him the Seroquel made me sleep for 14 hours, he didn't seem concerned and told me that I would just have to learn to adjust.

Didn't go back after that.





Fourth: Dr. Hypocratic Oathless

* Upon first meeting me told me I was eligible for this amazing, earth-shattering new brain study that could pinpoint exactly what medication I would need.

It was his own study. (Color me surprised.)

I took the preliminary test and somehow didn't qualify. He didn't really take much interest in me after that.

* Not once did he remember my name and never bothered to bring my chart in with him. He would have to ask my name every time he wrote a prescription for me.

* Once I Googled his name because I left my appointment book at home and couldn't remember the address or name of the building and needed the info for insurance. Found out he had a sexual misconduct charge brought against him.

Definitely didn't go back after that.

It's a wonder I haven't come through this worse than when I started.

Has anyone else had this crazy of an experience with doctors? Or is it just me?
(Please tell me it's not just me.)






Actually, I know I'm not the only one, because Agusten Burrows wrote the book, Running With Scissors, a memoir chronicling his life when he went to live with his mother's psychiatrist. Now that's a scary read.

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